


Let Loose In The Land

by Redlance



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Bromance, Disneyland, F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-04
Updated: 2012-09-04
Packaged: 2017-11-13 12:42:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/503646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redlance/pseuds/Redlance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when Pete and H.G. are sent to retrieve an artifact from Disneyland? I like to think it'd go something like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Loose In The Land

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Warehouse 13, the world and the characters that inhabit it do not belong to me in any way, though sometimes I lie away at night wishing that they did and what I'd do with them if they did. And then I write those thoughts down.
> 
> A/N: Written for [this comic](http://foxfire141.deviantart.com/#/d5dk2x0) that my girlfriend did. Posted first over at tumblr, but now it's finally been beta'd. ;)

* * *

     If Myka had been present at the Warehouse when Artie had received the ping, the days events, she knows, would have turned out differently. Because she never would have allowed Pete and Helena to be paired together for this particular mission, and she'd though anyone with half a brain would have come to the same conclusion. Artie, for his part in it, blamed his head cold.  
     “The cough syrup makes me loopy!” He'd brusquely defended, gazing up into fiery green eyes that he really did want to look away from, as Myka had loomed ominously over him.  
     “Then stop drinking it straight from the bottle!” She'd barked back, grabbed her Farnsworth from atop the desk and, shoving it into a back pocket, strode from the older man's office. He'd blinked at her retreating form, adjusting the blanket draped around his shoulders, and then eyed the small bottle of medicine to his left. A weak cough had left him as the door to the Umbilicus closed and his hand shot out to snatch up the bottle as if by its own volition.  
     But she hadn't been at the Warehouse, she'd been in Wyoming, and so the course of events that had eventually landed her in her current predicament – some thirty-thousand feet in the air and sat in front of a small boy who apparently aspired to be some kind of chair-kicking champion of the world – had played out largely unhindered.  
     She could **not** believe Artie had been so careless an as much as she'd wanted to smash the cough syrup bottle over his head, there might have been some validity to his claim. Because no one in their right mind would give Pete Lattimer and H.G. Wells free reign of Disneyland. She was certain of it. Still, the thought did little to quell the temper slowly starting to bubble and boil beneath the surface, and it was with the utmost restraint that she finally stuck her head around the side of her aisle seat and settled the likely-future offender behind her with a glare hot enough to melt steel.  
     “Could you please stop that?” She asked, voice icy even through the sweetness. She'd seen grown men falter, even tremble under that same look. All the boy did was kick her chair a little bit harder.  
     “Michael!” The woman beside him, Myka presumed his mother, popped out her ear buds long enough to admonish him and flash the agent an apologetic smile. Myka sat back in her seat with a heavy sigh and checked her watch. Not long now. Then it was just a short drive from the airport to Humiliationland. She groaned and closed her eyes.  
     And the kicking commenced once more.

* * *

     There were far too many children.  
     That was the first thing Myka Bering ascertained as she was led alongside City Hall and weaved through the bystanders milling about Main Street as though the castle at the end were a giant pink water cooler. She didn't care if it was clean enough to eat off, or if the cars only allowed to drive down it went about a mile an hour, it was still a road and should be treated as such, and people who valued their lives shouldn't just idle aimlessly in the middle of them.  
     She winced as the Cast Member who'd greeted her at the gates walked her past a small girl who was screaming at a decibel level that she was pretty sure should be illegal, presumably because she wanted the princess plush she'd apparently taken it upon herself to walk out of the store with that her father was now returning it to.  
     _“Happiest place on earth.”_ Myka mused to herself, scoffing inwardly. _“Right.”_  
     She'd been within the walls of the park only once before, as a little girl with her parents and sister. She'd loved it then. Of course, the experience was vastly different when viewed through the eyes of a tiny tourist and not through those of a Secret Service agent who'd arrived there to pick up two rogue agents.  
     Who'd been arrested.  
     In **Disneyland**.  
     She was definitely petitioning for a raise after this.

* * *

     H.G. Wells had envisioned many things in her life. Most of them largely extravagant, some so incredibly so that the actual inventing of them had been inconceivable, even to her. But the things she'd seen today, wonders of a future that had somehow become so commonplace in American culture, had captured her imagination as only few things in this century had.  
     While it was true that she'd witnessed many things that had made her marvel in the time since her unbronzing, not all had left her dizzy with wonderment. In fact, she could likely count those on one hand. And this place, this land that had started out as the humble vision of a Father, was among them. It was a place of joy and of dreams, a place where one never need truly grow up – as she'd been informed by Agent Lattimer – and it was a place that encouraged escapism, nurtured it.  
     She had, of course, ignored Pete when he'd informed her that those were the thoughts and feelings of 'first-timers' and that her opinion would change soon enough. It had, in all actuality, taken a good few hours for her opinion to alter at all.

* * *

     Over the course of the morning, Pete had ushered her aboard all manner of cars and boats, into a room filled with mechanical singing birds and into a mansion awaiting its final ghoulish addition. She had thought they'd seen all there was too see, until Pete's craving for popcorn had taken them back along Main Street.  
     “What is that?” Helena asked, waiting to point in the direction of what had caught her eye until Pete had paid the employee and turned to face her with a mouth already overflowing with his purchase. He read the words on the marquee and lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug.  
     “A re-imagined classic.” He said, tiny bits of popcorn sputtering forth from his parted lips. H.G. wrinkled her nose and made a face.  
     “Were you brought up without any manners at all?” Swallowing, he beamed at her, wide and proud.  
     “I always put the seat down after I'm done peeing.” And she had to allow him that one, as she'd witnessed all other occupants of the B&B commend him on that particular action multiple times when discussing friends and former partners. Still, her look of disdain remained.  
     “And yet you feel it acceptable to discuss bathroom habits in the presence of a lady.” Pete frowned, looking utterly befuddled by her statement as he glanced around the town square as though he were looking for someone.  
     “Lady? I don't see no-” A firm elbow to his jaw cut him off and almost knocked the popcorn out of his hand. H.G. lowered her coat onto her shoulders and cocked an eyebrow.  
     “Oh, did I catch you?” She asked, sarcasm lacing her concern. “Terribly sorry.” He rubbed at the side of his face, frowning in a way that made him look a lot like a kicked puppy as H.G. shoved her hands into the pocket of long coat and started meandering backwards away from him.  
     “Where are you going?” She flashed him a smile, turning in a way that made the bottom of her coat twirl, and sauntered towards the Opera House.  
     “To see if all of your 're-imagined' classics are as ghastly as some of the movies you've made me watch.”  
     “Hey!” He sputtered indignantly behind her, and her airy laughter was lost somewhere in the throng of people that separated them. “What am I supposed to do by myself?”

* * *

     As it turned out, depositing a child headfirst into the robotic trashcan that just so happened to be idly rolling by the line for the Matterhorn was **not** something he was supposed to be doing.

* * *

     While the preceding video to Great Moments With Mister Lincoln seemed a tad too lengthy for her tastes, H.G. couldn't help but marvel at the workings of the mechanical president when he was finally revealed. Never in her life, prior to visiting this place, had she seen anything like these - what had been the word Pete had used? - audio-animatronics. She could admit when she'd been captivated, and she had indeed been wholeheartedly captured by these robots. So much so that the urge to discover exactly how they worked would not leave her be. She was an inventor, after all. Born inquisitive and with an unending craving to discover how everything functioned. Was it her fault that such yearnings usually meant the dismantling of those things that had garnered her intrigue? Surely she couldn't be held accountable for that. Surely someone in this place, of all places, could understand her curiosity. Could see her as a kindred spirit.  
     The security guard who escorted her along a stark white corridor and into her cell for the evening was certainly not that someone. Maybe this place wasn't as wonderful and forward-thinking as she'd assumed.  
     But at least Pete was there to keep her company, a kindred spirit in a different way.  
     She did not understand the presence of the small boy across from them however.

* * *

     Myka kept pace with the tall man leading her until he rounded a corner and stopped short.  
     “Wells, Lattimer, someone's here for you two.”  
     “Finally!” She heard Pete exclaim, then give a kind of victorious cackle before half-yelling, “In your face, dumpster boy!” to someone. Part of her didn't want to know. Another part of her **really** didn't want to know. There came the scraping sound of a key in a lock and then she heard the cell door being slid open. “So, uh, we're not like... banned or anything, right?” Myka watched the Cast Member rest his hand as he let out a breath.  
     “Not this time,” and she could perfectly imagine the way Pete was undoubtedly punching the air at the proclamation as he hissed out a 'yes!', “but you might not be so lucky next time.” He warned. Myka backed up a few paces and dropped her stance so that she was leaning against the wall with her shoulder.  
     “Thanks, man. Really.”  
     “You have my gratitude, sir.” And so when Pete and H.G. rounded the corner, they almost fell face-first into Myka's glare.  
     “Oh, there won't **be** a next time.” She promised, and Pete felt the hair on the back of his next stand at attention.  
     “H.G.?” He murmured out of the side of his mouth, “I've got a really bad feeling.”

* * *

     “I cannot believe you two.” Myka fumed, her long strides taking her ahead of the agents trailing behind her and forcing them to quicken their pace in order to catch up. “What kind of people get themselves arrested at **Disneyland**?” Her ire was obvious, not just to her friends but also to those around her, and Pete couldn't help but admire the way the crowds literally parted before her. Like lava carving its way through stone.  
     “Badasses.” Pete mumbled, earning himself a hot glare. He threw his hands up in protest, then gestured emphatically towards nothing in particular. “Mykes! The little brat cut in line! What kind of person does **that**?” There had been many trying times over the years, many instances that had seen Myka battling the urge to punch her partner square in the face in the hopes it would knock some sense into him.  
     “Pete, he was eight. And you tossed him in a dumpster.” She managed to spit out from between gritted teeth.  
     “I didn't cut in lines when I was eight!” He argued, glaring at a small boy staring up at him with big eyes as they walked by.  
     “And yet you might just end up in a dumpster too if you don't let this go.” Her warning was clear and entirely serious, but Pete rarely took the advised route with things.  
     “He **cut** in **line**! We should, we should neutralize people for that!” Shaking her head, Myka briefly sent her gaze skyward, as if imploring the stars she could only faintly make out but new where hanging overhead.  
     “We don't neutralize children, Pete!” She barked, then heard Helena tut beside her.  
     “That's right, Peter. Do think rationally.” Myka gave the inventor a long, cautionary glance.  
     “We also don't neutralize nineteenth century Victorians, but I think I might talk to Artie about the chances of overlooking that particular rule just this once.” Helena's eyebrows quirked in unison, the edges of her lips curling slightly even in the face of a threat. She couldn't help herself; Myka was always so devastatingly fetching when incensed beyond reason.  
     “Myka, I can assure you my intent was not to cause anyone harm or distress. I was merely curious.” She insisted, tone light and airy as if she'd just been taking a closer look at the robotic man and hadn't actively gone about stripping him down to his wires.  
     “Yeah, well I know it might seem strange to you, but people here kind of frown upon the dismantling of former presidents.” Helena shrugged, seemingly unfazed by the majority of the days happenings.  
     “I don't see what all the fuss was about. I was going to put him back together once I was finished.”  
     There were met once more at the gates by a different Cast Member, who was no doubt there to ensure that they actually left the premises. Myka felt like a chastised child as he gave them a tight, uncomfortable-looking smile. She hadn't even **done** anything.  
     “Hey, Mykes?” She glanced sidelong at Pete. “Any chance we can make just a super quick detour through Cars Land?”  
     “Pete, I swear to god-”  
     “Okay, okay.” He sighed, the caught H.G.'s attention. He flashed her a wide grin that she returned. “Next time.”


End file.
